Absence
by pokeherwithastick
Summary: Post 7.02, just some forty odd years down the road. Sam is married, Bobby died, and Dean is in need of his angel, who died too soon. My first fic, so please bear with me.


**I'm very new here, so I'd appreciate it if you guys give me a little time to figure this stuff out. Enjoy! :D**

Eighty-seven year old Dean Winchester hobbled over to the glass window, clutching his aching back with one hand and holding a wooden stick in the other. He gazed at the clear night sky and smiled. There were millions of stars looking down upon him, all twinkling.

He remembered eons ago, when Castiel was still with them and all hell had not yet broken loose within him, the blue-eyed angel had once said, as the both of them stood there, at that exact same spot Dean was standing, looking up at the dark shy with Dean's arm carefully placed around Cas, "Look at those stars, Dean. See them? Those are all angels, and the people who knew you, taking care of you, watching you." Dean had swallowed hard, not willing himself to cry, because the thought of his parents, Ellen, Jo and others who actually cared about both the Winchesters, taking care of him was too much to think about. So, instead, he came up with a snide remark. "Watching me? Cas, that's really porn-y, you know that?"

The angel had just blinked.

Dean, snapping back to the present, smiled at the memory as tears swam in his eyes. He made no effort to blink it away; what for? Nobody was here to see him drop a few man tears. Sam had settled down with a nice lady some forty odd years ago. They, of course, still kept in contact, but Dean didn't like to disturb his little brother (who was not _that_ little anymore) when he finally got the apple-pie life he always wanted.

Bobby had passed away due to old age twenty-three years ago. Dean still missed him like crazy, sometimes, but at least the late hunter got to live a long, full life, something, in the world of hunting, that was seemingly quite difficult to come by.

Castiel…

Oh, god, Castiel.

Dean's face crumpled at the thought of the angel and the tears fell, rivulets of salt water streaming endlessly down his face, and then onto his shirt.

That painful memory, of seeing his Cas, just before those goddamned levia-leviawhatchamacallit sucked every inch of his precious life away.

Away from Dean.

He didn't even get to say goodbye.

Not one, brush upon the lips; Not one, last lingering gaze between them, both pairs of eyes staring into each other, the eyes that spoke everything; No. Not one. It was just Cas, asking them to run, Cas, refusing their help, Cas, turning into something he barely recognised.

Dean padded over to the drawer beside his bed, trying to ignore the tears that still continued flowing. Then, opening it, he took out the only object that occupied the space. A dirty, beige-ish coat, with faint crimson red stains streaking the somewhat old-fashioned piece of clothing. He sat on his bed, which creaked at the weight that was placed upon it, and, with hands trembling, brought the trenchcoat to his nose and breathed in the familiar smell of it.

God, was the smell of Castiel still lingering on the trenchcoat? Was it still taunting him, mocking him, making him remember the day his Cas left him? Dean sobbed even harder now, the tears making a wet patch on the late angel's everyday wear, soaking it.

The older Winchester could still recall very vividly- almost too vividly, in fact- when Cas, or what was left of him, went down, down, down into the menacing waters, arms spread out wide, and as the waters enveloped him, he exploded, the black, disgusting liquid shooting out of his whole body.

And as the leviathans- yes, he could finally recall the name of those horrible creatures- tore out of him, Dean could still remember the knife that went straight through his heart.

He had hated himself, back then, partly because the only thing he could do was stand there and watch the leviathans eat Castiel away. Dean hated it when he was so helpless, so pathetic.

But that was not the main reason for his self-loathing.

He didn't get to tell Castiel he was in love with him. He thought he would have all the time in the world to say it. Sure, he had shown it (he hoped), but it was different than actually saying those three precious words.

At that time, he would've cursed at himself for being so chick-flicky. But it didn't matter now. He couldn't say it to Cas, and that's what still tortures him to no end.

Dean's crying now had turned into mere hiccups, and he held the trenchcoat even closer to his chest, like a five-year-old boy unwilling to give up his favourite toy truck. "I love you, Cas," he said, burying his head into the coat, making his voice muffled. "I always have and I always will."

He stood like that for a while, before breathing deeply to calm himself down, and then used the back of his hand to wipe the tear tracks that were still etched upon his face away.

He stumbled into bed, overwhelmed with emotions. If someone saw him now, they would have thought him drunk. He had not touched any alcohol for days, and wasn't planning on doing so.

He sighed as he pulled the covers over him, the loneliness creeping up again, like it always did, but being so overcome with fatigue, he closed his eyes almost immediately.

Then, just as he was about to fall asleep, he murmured softly, "I'm coming for you, Cas. Don't you worry."

Dean fell into a deep slumber, his fingers still closed around the only valuable he had, and maybe he was dreaming (he sincerely doubted it though), but he saw a trenchcoated figure with gorgeous features and with startling, oh-so-innocent blue eyes holding out his hand. A slight smile made him look even more beautiful. And there was this… radiant light behind the guy (was he even human?); he looked very holy.

"Hello, Dean. I've missed you."

END.

**So… you guys like? The ending is for you to make out yourself… You can think Dean died, or that Dean was just dreaming. (Personally, I think Dean died, BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT.) It's one of my first fics, so… a review would be very much appreciated, to hone my writing skills. Criticism is welcome, as well. Thank you for reading!**


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